


When the Wind Shakes Us

by Darkhymns



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst, F/M, Injury, Trust, Wing Touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhymns/pseuds/Darkhymns
Summary: There is not much of himself that Kratos wants to tell – for none of it is worth telling. But a brief reveal of his wings had been enough to lay himself bare to her.
Relationships: Anna/Kratos Aurion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	When the Wind Shakes Us

**Author's Note:**

> Written for krannaweek Day 3: Free, and maybe Day 2: Angst? I guess both. This got away from me a bit. The general idea for this story came from this [other fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576522) I've written and thought it would fit well with kranna. Or I hope so anyway.

Kratos had gone to painstaking measures to keep much of himself hidden from Anna. She had known he was of Cruxis, even as she was confused as to why a human would join. But his age, his history, his own list of past grievances - these were things he would keep buried under lock and key until his life would finally end under violence (for surely there was no other way).

But he had not meant for her to see his wings.

When they had been ambushed on the roads, it had not been the typical Desians he had come to expect. Instead, angels with dark eyes and darker countenances came swooping down from the skies, their descent accompanied by wings that beat harshly in the air, like ravenous birds of prey. He had not realized Mithos would already be sending the worst after them.

Anna had fought some of them off with the help of a sword she had lifted off one of the Desians they felled earlier, but it had not been enough. She had been far across the field, the fight taking her away from him without his knowledge.

Kratos had grown desperate.

 _“Anna!”_ he shouted, using her name as if it were the only thing that mattered to him. And there were so many years of nothing mattering until he saw her in the cellblock, the Exsphere buried deep below her collarbone, taking away her time little by little.

His wings manifested from his back on instinct, flying across the ground to cut an angel down with an expert stroke. Another rushed near his right and he parried away their attempt to slice off his head. A rush of adrenaline he had not felt since the night of Martel's death, trying to find a ray of hope to everything before seeing Mithos' look of despair and feeling his promises break in half.

Anna was watching him with wide eyes, once quiet settled over them both, bodies and feathers decorating the forest floor. The night wind cut through his clothes with a chill, lifted Anna's burnished brown hair. It made the blue light from his wings waver, carrying motes of light around them, like the strangest of fireflies.

"Anna, I-"

"You're hurt," she said to him swiftly, her voice quiet, eyes finally leaving his wings to land on his forearm. Only then did he notice the cut, made by an angel's spear. The material was torn, leaving a red streak that he could not feel, did not wish to feel.

"I will be fine," he stated, sheathing his sword and ready to cast first aid on himself. But she raised her hand, and something in her finality made him halt in mid-motion.

"Not here," she said, eyes darting behind them, into a copse of trees. "Just, not here."

Kratos had been the one to lead them for most of their journey, but now he followed behind Anna's back, confused, a bit unsettled. His wings finally dissipated, and he couldn't help but notice the way her eyes seemed to shine for a brief moment then, until it blended with the night.

A long walk, longer than anticipated, but eventually she stopped them near a hillside, the night sky turning into an impenetrable black, studded with stars. _But so much less than before,_ he thought, the bitterness still running through him. When he had counted them, he felt he had left a part of himself within each and every star, until he was left hollow. But meeting Anna made him question if that was the case.

From their gathered supplies, Anna took out bandages, then gestured Kratos to sit down. He blinked at the suggestion.

"There is no need. I can simply use my healing artes-" 

"Kratos, I don't ask for much," she said, once again interrupting him. "Now sit and let me help you."

Words built up in his throat, which he wisely pushed down with a swallow. Adjusting his scabbard, he sat on the ground before her.

He felt a pressure on his forearm, and only then adjusted to allow his nerves to feel again. A dull ache stemmed from that wound, followed by the touch of Anna's fingers before they would lift to wrap the bandage over his arm.

"...I did not know that you were a healer yourself," he found himself saying.

She scoffed. "Only for my little sisters when they would scrape a knee. Had to learn a lot for them. And-" A pause, one filled with pain. "And I guess it was good I learned anyway. The Desians would leave many prisoners injured at the ranch."

Words of comfort would always elude Kratos. 4000 years hadn't changed that. Yet still, he tried. "I am sorry."

She did not respond to that, continuing to tie up the bandage, to mop away the blood that had dripped down his arm and into the ground. Kratos was busy silently berating himself before she spoke again.

"May I see them?"

His heart stilled, his mind halted. The wind continued to rush through him. "I know they are not normal," he said, knowing what she meant. "It...is best that I don't."

Something tightened around his arm, pain immediately flaring up. "Gh!"

"Sorry," Anna said, fidgeting slightly. "I am just… just a bit frustrated."

He looked to her then. She was still holding onto him, eyes toward the small pool of blood on the ground. 

"I just don't understand why you won't share anything with me." 

Kratos looked down as well, his chest feeling tight.

"There is...so much that you do not tell me. I feel as if I am walking around with a shadow sometimes. A shadow who makes terrible coffee…"

"I thought I had been improving," he had to argue.

He saw the hint of a smile on her lips. "Maybe just a bit." She winked. "Could be better though."

But even her brief humor was not enough to stem the awkwardness, the unspoken feelings between them. Both on the edge on finally admitting something, anything, before retreating into the darkness that was familiar, if not comforting.

Kratos knew he was not helping matters.

“There is not much of me that is worthy to know,” he finally said, his voice low, the difficulty in speaking it much more than he expected. “My misdeeds have already been done. You do not need to share in my burdens-”

“That is not what I am asking you.”

Her voice was sharp, cutting through his melancholic rambles. The force of her tone was enough to pull his gaze back to her.

“I am asking you, - _you_ , Kratos Aurion – to tell me who you are. I am not looking to correct anything, I am not even looking to help you. I am only wanting something simple. To know you.” A sigh. “Because how can I give my trust when one keeps so much from me?"

She took a shuddering breath. "Months I've been locked away. It hurt to simply breathe with this thing inside me. Then suddenly you show up, and… and I don't understand _why_ still. I cannot understand you. I cannot understand what you see in me, out of everyone at the ranch."

Kratos felt her hands linger on his forearm, finally allowing himself to feel. It had been so long since he felt a touch such as this, so long.

"At least let me see you," she whispered. "Please show them to me."

In the world of Sylvarant, there were legends of angels, perfectly twisted to reflect Mithos' vision. The angels of Cruxis, messengers of the goddess Martel, represented salvation. Kratos worried. Is that how Anna was seeing him? Would he only keep perpetuating this lie as he always had for so many millennia?

Her hand was placed against his back, waiting. But her eyes were sharp. She had seen the wings, but it didn't mean she was blinded by their light.

“…I am not used to this much attention on them.” Kratos cleared his throat. “So, forgive me if I don’t summon them right away.”

Anna smirked. “I will not judge.”

Even with her dry humor, with her warm hands, Kratos hesitated. Soon, a thin line of azure, extending into fragments and curves, patterns within a night sky. The gleam of the Exsphere buried in her skin shone for a moment, catching the light of his wings before she adjusted her cloak around her neck.

She stared at him, at the wings from his back, a slipstream of mana that he could feel the wind rush against. It made him shiver a bit more. It was more vulnerable than he had imagined, for wasn’t this just another symbol of who he was? _Betrayer, coward, jailer, weakling._ The wings of the other angels from before were different, but they had once had wings like his own before they crystallized into something solid, pulling at their back, forever aching and writing inside them as tendons pulled and bones cracked. _But it does not bother them for they cannot feel._ He frowned, looking away.

Then Anna touched his right wing, fingers rushing right through it as easily as the wind.

He shivered. His breathing quickened. He widened his eyes.

Her hand pulled back. "I-I’m sorry. Did that… hurt you too?" For the first time since the ranch, Anna looked frightened. She was about to stand up. “This was stupid of me. I didn’t mean-”

He did not reach to grab her, even though he wished to. He had enough sense to hold out his hand to her, calming her down before she could go.

"No.." he said, his voice in awe. “Please stay.”

He had never felt like this, even when he had once been a mere human, fighting for what had once seemed so simple. To stop a war. To stop the constant suffering. It had all been so simple, but everything just kept going wrong, more wrong than he could imagine. Martel’s kindness met with betrayal, Mithos’ belief in others shattering before his eyes, Yuan’s cynicism only being repaid in the worst way imaginable. For years, Kratos had only known this, unable to even remember a time when things were different.

Her hand on his wings reminded him, transcended him.

His hand was hovering just over her lap. "I… I should not ask you this...but…" 

Kratos was a coward. This he knew intimately. But Anna read the request in his trailed off sentence. Could he be touched like this again?

With that, she moved closer, face nearer his, and rushed her hands over his wings again.

Her fingers brushed against the fine edge of the wingtip and Kratos felt something then. More than something. Of so many years locked inside his own prison, and her hands setting him free.

He was vulnerable, he was laid bare. It felt like a weight had left his back, leaving only Anna with him.

 _Anna,_ he thought, and could not stop his weakness. An arm reached out to embrace her around the waist, pulling her to him. All the while, her hand traced over his wings, feeling the contours, the pulse of his mana, the depth of his guilt.

He had lived for so very long. So, so long. But only tonight had he ever felt truly alive.


End file.
